


Doll's Hand

by Steangine



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, What if?, maybe some fluff, sad but happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29900646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steangine/pseuds/Steangine
Summary: Dante knew his brother was somewhere inside that shell and he would never stop looking for him.[Nelo/Dante, quite bittersweet]
Relationships: Dante/Nelo Angelo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Doll's Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the two fics I have submitted for the Spardacest Zine.  
> I will share the other one next week.

Dante didn’t believe he brought home an empty shell.

Even if Trish helped him in dragging Nelo Angelo all the way back to his office, she made clear from the beginning that clinging to the illusion Dante could have his brother back was just a waste of effort and time.

“I wasn’t born yet when Mundus corrupted him,” she explained even if Dante didn’t want to hear. “However, I saw how he acted, and I don’t think there’s much of your brother left inside. Maybe some sparkle of his original power is still there, enough not to die, but Mundus sucked his heart out and replaced it with his own essence.”

For how much Dante was repulsed with the image Trish’s words stuck into his head, he had to admit the description fit. The pulsating black seed of Mundus was still infecting his brother’s body; the tendrils were spread under his pale skin like roots which feasted on his energy and soul to give him back a new presence. If Dante closed his eyes, he felt an extension of the demon he despised the most. There wasn’t his brother sitting in front of him, but a doll shaped like him who was drenched in Mundus’ filthy stench.

No, it didn’t matter, he told himself, shaking those thoughts away from his mind. Vergil was still in there somewhere. A hope, more than a feeling, but Dante had clung to his human side for long enough to believe that sometimes miracles could happen. He wanted to indulge in that pleasant delusion for a bit more before facing the harsh reality and abandon himself to despair.

Dante didn’t allow Trish to remain at his office. She didn’t understand how he could fool himself like that, but it seemed like a human thing that an artificial demon like her couldn’t fully grasp, so he just accepted it. However, her presence would definitely make him give up on his task sooner than he intended to; she was the voice of the reason Dante locked up for the time being.

“Home sweet home.” A shower made Dante feel better. He hadn’t been sleeping for the past two days, and his demon heritage helped him to endure such lack of rest. “Not as welcoming as our old house, but we have a roof overhead. Don’t you think so too, Vergil?”

No response.

“Yes, I know. You probably are used to velvet covers, magnificent halls… We can’t have them here, Brother.”

Nelo Angelo was sitting on the sofa. Or better, Dante put him on the sofa, looked at his enormous body collapsing on its side with a gentle flop and then adjusted his torso and his limbs so that he assumed a sitting position. His hands resting at the side of his body looked unnatural, so Dante moved them on his legs. Even like that, there was something odd; the perfect angles formed by the legs and the torso gave him a rigid stance, and it seemed like Nelo was nervously waiting for something. Of course, the forced position didn’t match the empty eyes. The glaring red burning of fierce combative will had vanished and left behind a white void. Dante wondered if his brother could see him.

“Isn’t that armor a bit uncomfortable? With the cape and such... Capes are outdated, but you never followed trends.” Dante examined the metallic skin shielding Nelo’s body. He was sure he left some cuts on it during their spars but couldn’t see any. The armor healed itself; it was the living warden of his brother. “I still remember that stupid cravat. You had no taste whatsoever, really.”

He talked to him as if Nelo could hear and understand his words. Dante touched the cold armor and wondered where each piece began and finished. Which one should he take off first? His fingertips brushed against the smooth plates around the arms, traced an invisible line along Nelo’s arms, and stopped at his wrists. Nelo’s hands were resting motionless on his thighs.

Dante put one hand on top of one of Nelo’s. As the rest of his body, the hand was bigger than his and the fingers were longer. Mundus’ energy was so strong and coercive that the normal size of Vergil’s body probably couldn’t endure it, so it grew and grew until it was of the perfect dimension to accommodate the parasite feasting on him. They weren’t a perfect mirror of each other anymore: Dante felt pain in his heart.

“Do you remember?” Dante gently held his hand. “Whenever you dragged me back home, you held my hand, never my wrist. I complained that I wanted to play, but dinner was ready and mom called us.” Dante touched his cheek. So cold that Nelo could have been taken for dead if it weren’t for the faint breath escaping his lips. Dante traced with his thumb one of the cursed roots implanted in his brother. He wanted to pluck them out one by one, but he didn’t know how without hurting his brother – could he feel pain? Could he feel anything?

“I wish I knew where you read all that open sesame shit that lead you to Arkham and the Temen-ni-Gru.”

A few days after the accident that destroyed the façade of his still-unnamed shop and shattered his heart, Lady called him. It looked like her father was more cautious than expected because his lifetime research burnt down in ashes, probably the moment Lady pulled the trigger on his head. There were remnants of magical circles that made her suspect Arkham locked his library to prevent any intruder from walking his same path. Useful to her job of preventing any human idiot from looking for demonic power. But maybe one of those dusty books and wrinkled papers contained the antidote to the poison cursing Vergil.

“There might be something somewhere that would tell how to awaken your stupid brother from the spell he has been put under. Don’t you think so too?” His brother’s lips were white and lifeless. “Like a kiss?” The idea brought him on the verge of an empty laugh. Would they be the modern prince and sleeping beauty?

Dante chuckled and interrupted the contact. He was tired.

Nelo didn’t flinch when Dante threw himself next to him. The wobble of the sofa almost made Nelo’s torso slide on its side, but Dante caught him on time and put him back in position. He didn’t even react at Dante’s poor attempt of making him move on his own — he pinched his hand, raised it up so that his arm stretched and let it go. Instead of remaining midair, the hand fell limp on his lap.

“I guess we have a long road ahead, huh?”

Dante’s eyes fell on his hand. He grabbed it again and examined the gauntlet. Nelo took off his helmet quite easily, so Dante should be able to free him from the pieces of his armor without any problem, if not for the fact that Dante had zero knowledge on armor. However, lacking knowledge had never stopped him once.

Dante slowly dealt with the plates enveloping the hand. It took him less attempts than he thought, but he finally felt the familiar sensation of garments sliding along the body and caught sight of the pale skin under the dark armor. The cursed tendrils seemed to have rooted in his brother’s entire body, little tiny creeks, which brought the poison of Mundus even to his fingertips.

Mundus made sure that every inch of Vergil was under his control. His seed was still running into his brother’s veins; it didn’t matter if he was sealed into another dimension. His infection didn’t vanish. But his absence made that possession useless, and Dante believed it was the right time to cleanse Vergil from it.

Dante held the cold hand. His brother was there, with him. Now he was an empty doll void of his own self and filled with the identity forced on him, but Vergil’s heart was still beating. Dante was sure of it.

The sensation of the still fingers and the smooth skin was the closest thing to an affectionate touch Dante had felt in a long time. His mind wandered back to the last time he tenderly held someone’s hand. He erased all the instances when a daring person had enough nerves to trespass the borders of his physical comfort zone to grab his hand, and his mind wandered back in time until it pictured a house surrounded by emerald green and shielded by a deep blue sky. Vergil was sitting under a tree, with a little scowl. Dante wanted to play, but his brother wasn’t stopping reading. _When I finish this chapter, Dante_. He always said it, but then one chapter became two, and two turned into three, until Dante sometimes lost his patience and ignited a heated fight. But sometimes, Dante waited. He curled next to his brother and held his hand so he wouldn’t feel alone. Vergil never refused to intertwine their fingers together.

Dante opened his eyes, and all he felt was the warmth of his body being sucked away from the hand connected to his brother’s. He put the other hand inside his trousers. Halfway in his remembrance, arousal took him over. Sometimes it happened, especially when he was bored. He was just there, chilling in wait for a new job, and his body almost acted on its own. Dante had no reason to stop there, and he lowered his trousers and underwear enough to uncover his erection.

For a second, his mind tricked him and whispered into his ears malicious words. He could use that inert hand instead of his own, wrap the cold fingers around his shaft and use it as he pleased. Or the mouth, the voice insisted, because right now his brother couldn’t react.

“Shut up.”

Dante’s order echoed into the silence. His hand was pumping fast because if he slowed down, he was sure he would lose the glimpse of excitement that turned him into a tingling mess, and he would remain with nothing but the disappointment of a missed orgasm. He clamped the other hand more around his brother’s, his thumb rubbing his skin. Dante was smothering in his own heat. He wanted to get undressed, wanted to undress his brother from that armor, wanted their skins to touch, wanted to pour on him all his warmth and receive his cold to share that burden. But instead, he jerked himself off to a bland orgasm which left him breathless and yearning for a bed.

Next to him, Nelo didn’t move. Like a doll.

“A tasteless doll.” Dante chuckled at his own joke. “Aren’t you hot in there?”

Of course, Nelo didn’t reply.

Despite his sore muscles aching at each step he made with such a huge and heavy body limp on his back, Dante brought his brother all the way upstairs to the bedroom. His instinct helped him more than logic as he ripped the armor off a piece at a time. He started with the other gauntlet and the bootlegs. Dante was afraid the plates could stick to his skin and he would be forced to cut them and pray for the regeneration to work. But it looked like the armor had no other living trait than self-regeneration, so Dante trashed his caution away together with all the metallic pieces.

They were an eyesore in the corner of his room and Dante wanted to get rid of them with his demonic powers. But first, he destroyed a small piece because he was afraid that armor was still somehow tied to his brother, and he could end up destroying Vergil as well. Luckily, it wasn’t. The metal was frizzling, surrounded by a dark smoke, and nothing changed in Nelo.

Dante burnt them all into ashes. They stunk.

“For being stuck inside that thing for who knows how many years…” A sudden lump in his throat blocked his words, and Dante had to clear it with a small cough. “…you don’t stink at all, Brother.”

However, Dante dragged him to the bathroom and submerged him in water. He had no idea to what extent Mundus’ touch reached Vergil, so he wanted to cleanse his whole body. It was such a human idea that Dante couldn’t help but laugh at himself for being so corny. But the sensation of the soaped sponge running along his brother’s body was relaxing, and Dante indulged in that little moment as long as he could. When the water turned cold without being able to share any warmth with Nelo anymore, Dante decided it was enough.

“Well, Big Brother, it looks like I don’t have any clothes that fit you well for now.”

Vergil’s body was too big for any of Dante’s clothes to cover him properly. The t-shirts would feel uncomfortable around the shoulders, and the trousers were too short. Dante tucked him in bed naked.

“Tomorrow I’ll do some shopping,” he promised. “Do you still like the cravat and coat combo?” The memory of how he used to walk around taunted his chuckle of a bitter note.

Since he had opened the shop, never once had Dante brought into his bedroom any of the books he gathered. Some were about demonic instruments, others about fairytales because many demons who inspired humans to write those stories were still alive and caused enough ruckus that someone hired him.

“Not that they paid me well for the job,” Dante concluded. He explained to Vergil why he had more than one book about old fairy tales, but, of course, his brother kept staring at the ceiling in the same position Dante put him. It seemed like he didn’t care about the story of Dante saving a public library from the curse of a demon who loved picking his victims and playing like a cat with a mouse.

With the book opened on his lap, Dante rustled under the blanket to pull Nelo’s hand out and intertwined their fingers like he used to do when they were children, and he fell asleep lulled by Vergil’s voice. His hand was cold, his skin smooth. Like porcelain. Their mom had some porcelain dolls.

“I like this one.” Silence. “It has a happy ending.”

Dante started reading. He read aloud with a clear voice, never missing the right intonation. Listening to his brother during the warm summer afternoons and lazy winter mornings taught him well. When they were children, Dante sometimes believed Vergil loved books more than him, but he forgot as soon as he woke up with his head on Vergil’s lap and with Vergil caressing his hair.

No matter what they did, Dante loved spending time with his brother. Even like this, with Vergil turned into a dim shadow of the person he was, his ego and heart devoured by Mundus with no recollection of his past life and of his little brother. Dante didn’t mind at all because finally, Vergil was at his side.

And maybe it was just his impression – he probably lost himself in the magic of the book leading the story to a happy ending – but Dante felt Vergil’s fingers twitching as if he were trying to remember how to hold hands.


End file.
